Hard Rock Roots Box Set (111 page)

“I see. So you prefer the company of men?” I raise my hands up and look over my shoulder again. America's still giving me that
look
, the dinosaur one, so I turn back to the reporter and drop my arms to my lap. My fingers curl so tight against my jeans that they burn.

“I'm. Not. Gay.” Probably the thousandth time I've fucking said that in my life. Not that I think there's anything wrong with that; I'm just sick of people trying to force some label on me because they don't get me. I play drums, I like to watch horror movies, and I have tattoos on my eyelids. That doesn't mean I want dick in my ass. I'm just this way, and I'm sick of justifying myself to everyone.

“Bisexual?” Pearl asks me. I purse my lips.

“I enjoy moving my cock inside of a woman's vagina.” Not really sure how much clearer I can get than that. Pearl enjoys this, her overly made up face twisting into an expression of pure glee. This, this is why I always beg America not to schedule interviews. These people don't give a fuck about any of us. All they want is a story, and fuck, let's be honest. I'm not all that interesting to them. I'm just the drummer of the second rate band that's along for the ride. I'm not Turner Campbell; I don't have four babies from different mothers like Ronnie. I'm not a train wreck like Hayden, a kidnap victim returned from the depths of horror. No Naomi, risen from the dead and the first and only chick to ever tame the wild beast that is Indecency's lead singer. I'm useless to them. The only way my interview will be worth anything is if she pisses me off. And I'm letting her. I instantly hate myself for it. And then I realize I'm acting exactly like the emo bitch I always get accused of being. And then I just get pissed off.

“But also inside of a man?” Pearl prods. I think she's really enjoying herself here. Nobody is that fucking stupid. I move my grip to the arms of my chair and lean forward.

“Are you dumb, Pearl? Did your mother drop you on your head when you were a child?” This doesn't particularly faze her, but it does get America's attention. I can hear her heels clicking across the floor behind me. I have seconds, maybe, to save this interview. “Look, I'm not gay, okay? Please stop asking me that. Can't we talk about something else? The music maybe? That's why we're here isn't it?” Pearl doesn't look particularly interested in me anymore. She sighs and then
yawns,
glancing down at the clipboard in front of her.

“Any crushes we should know about?” she asks me, more like it's a required question and less like she actually gives a shit. Naomi's name immediately springs to mind and then dies on my lips. Yeah, that's the last thing I need. To tell the world how pathetic I am. We've all been watching Turner and Naomi's whirlwind romance. I scramble for something to say while Pearl looks on, getting more interested by the moment. She probably thinks I'm trying to comb through my hundred butt buddies. Fucking fuck. I mean, I don't really care what she thinks, but Jesus. I just want people to know me. That's it.

“Sydney Charell.” It pops right out of my mouth like it's been summoned. The words sit there in front of my face, letters swimming round and round in my blurring vision.
Aw, shit. Shit. Man. Shit.
“I … ”
Have no idea what to say.
Pearl looks confused for a moment, rustling her papers and then tossing them aside for her iPad. After a moment, understanding dawns on her face.

“So you're in love with Treyjan's sister? Interesting. That's interesting. So you might say, Trey's tragedy was your miracle?”

“Huh, what? No. No. I didn't say I was in love with her. I just … And my miracle? I'm sorry. I don't follow.”
This isn't the live interview. This isn't the live interview.
I just keep repeating that to myself. Somebody, probably Pearl, is going to write this shit up and post in on the
Rockersbloodpills.com
site. The TV interview comes later. I can't fucking wait.

“Trey getting shot was the best thing that ever happened to you. If he hadn't been shot, Sydney wouldn't have come to town. A stripper with a heart of gold waltzes into your life, takes you by the hand, and really redeems you as a man. Does that sound accurate?”

“That couldn't be further from the truth,” I start, but suddenly, there's a warm body spilling into my arms, a mouth on my mouth. My whole body goes numb, like it's in shock. When sensation starts back up in my limbs, it's with a vengeance. My skin gets tight, my cock gets hard, and my hands curl around the plump curves of a one, Miss fucking Sydney Charell. When her tongue hits mine, it's like an explosion goes off inside of me. I growl, and I
never
growl. I bite at her fucking face like an animal, eating at her sweet heat and tasting her like I've never tasted another woman before. Sydney smells like summer and wild things, like citrus and fruit groves, like the sea shimmering under the sun. I squeeze her hard, splaying my hands out against her supple flesh, pulling her as tightly against me as I can get. And Pearl? Yeah, uh, fuck Pearl.

I get that there's a world around me, spinning through the dark depths of space. I get that Naomi's probably watching me tongue a chick I just met. That Hayden's watching. Kash, Wren, Blair, America. But I can't seem to stop myself. My body just
reacts
and that's that. Sydney's lips are soft and smooth, fluttering over my angry mouth like a butterfly. For a first kiss, it's pretty bomb.

When we pull apart, we're both gasping, breathing hard. I'm physically fighting my body, begging my dick to stop throbbing and my stomach to stop aching. I get lost in her blue eyes, quivering there, my mouth shaking as I just barely brush over her skin.
Get a hold of yourself, asshole. You're not an untamed beast.
I ignore the part of me that says,
but Sydney makes me want to be one.

“I, uh, I'm Dax.” And I can't believe nobody thinks of me as a Casanova? That's so fucking shocking. I lick my lips and Sydney makes this, this
noise
in her throat that has me going crazy. “I mean, uh, thanks. Thank you.” I tear my eyes from hers and glance over her shoulder, determined
not
to feel the slick, hot skin of her bare back rubbing against my arms. Pearl is gaping at me, actually gaping. I resist the urge to flip her off. Too Turner. And I'm not Turner. I am Dax McCann, born and raised in the Midwest but never a real part of it, never a card carrying member. I am Dax McCann and I really, really want to have sex with this woman.

“I have no idea what I'm doing. Sometimes, I just do things.” Sydney shrugs, but all that does is cause her breasts to rub against my chest. I debate moving her off of me, but then, I've got a massive fucking hard-on. And while the camera behind Pearl isn't supposed to be rolling, it could be. I take a second to glance around the room and plan my exit. There are a lot of faces staring at me. Too many. Kash gives me a thumbs up, but I ignore him. Turner's head is cocked to the side like he can't even fucking believe what he's seeing. And Naomi. I can't even meet her eyes. So, I do what any logical dude would do. I grab Sydney under the legs and around the waist, lifting her up with me as I rise to my feet. I carry her low, moving across the suddenly silent room. You could hear a pin drop in here.

We only make it about as far as the back curtain, sliding into the darkness near the bathrooms with a rush of breath and a few gasps. I drop Sydney to her feet and slam her into the wall with a groan, fumbling at her dress, pressing my erection against her firm body. She's just … killer. Absolutely killer.

“I don't know you, but I want to slam you into this wall and fuck the shit out of you. Explain.”

“You've never had a quickie before?” Sydney asks, but her voice catches like maybe she's never felt a lust this strong before either. Thank God, right, because I wouldn't just be considered emo, I'd be a downright fucking loser. I can hardly remember my own name right now. Imagine if this happened on a regular basis?

“Are we going to have one now?” I ask. My dick has a mind of its own and currently, it's attempting to make a jail break. I've managed to push Sydney's skin tight dress up her thighs, leaving her hot core just a thin, silken shield away from me. I press my crotch tighter into her and try to remember to breathe. Doesn't seem all that important in the moment.

“Um, yes,” Sydney breathes against my neck, breaking my free will in half. I am now currently a slave to my dick. Great. I hope Dad reads my interview.

“Um, no. How about that? How the fuck about that?” Turner snarls, moving behind the curtain and pushing me back a step. I almost kill him. It's sort of like that. My body is full of testosterone, and my logical brain is already pissed off at him for laughing, so there's really nothing left keeping me back. Good thing Sydney steps between us.

“Turner, fuck off. This isn't really any of your business.”

“Uh, yeah, it is. Trey's my brother which makes you kind of my sister, and I'm not going to friggin' stand here and listen to my sister get banged by some douche-y little bitch that wears his hair in his face.”

“Oh, that's real rich, Turner. You do know that I strip for a living, right?”

“Yeah, but I don't have to see it.”

“You don't have to see this if you leave,” Sydney continues, folding her arms over her chest. I try not to look too closely at her ass hanging out of those sexy, little panties. There's fucking lace on the edges.
Lace.
I take another step back and turn completely around, focusing instead on the brick walls of the building and not on some girl I barely know. I'm not a prude or anything, but I just generally don't sleep around. Once in a while, the urge strikes. I mean, I'm human after all, but that doesn't mean I want a reputation that proceeds me.

“What the fuck is going on in here?”
Crap.
Naomi. I glance over my shoulder, reaching down to make sure my pants are back in order. They are, but my cock isn't. It's rock solid. Might as well be made out of diamond. Add a little water and I could cut granite.

“This angst ridden fuck is trying to show his one eyed monster to my sister.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake, Turner.” Naomi doesn't sound as irritated as I'd like though. I swear, in there somewhere, is unbridled affection. She might not know it yet, but she
likes
Turner's annoying … Turner-isms. Or whatever you want to call them. She fucking likes them. Deep down inside of me, a little bit of my feeling for Naomi dies.

I turn around and hope to God the bulge in my pants is hidden in shadow.

“That's hilarious, man. Me? Angst ridden? Listen to your fucking music, dude. I might wear twice as much eyeliner as you, but I don't sing about my bloody, broken heart in every Goddamn song.”

“Oh, oh, oh, shit.” Turner takes a breath, puts his hands in his back pockets and looks away for a second. “You have just dug your grave, Little Drummer Bitch. I am going to beat the man back into your pussy ass.”

“Bring it on.”

I don't know why I say that.

Turner hits me like a freight train, sending me stumbling back and falling to the cement floor. In the background, I can hear Naomi and Sydney yelling, but the noise fades away, and my body switches into fight or flight mode. Flight is
not
an option, but fight? I'm not trying to make excuses, but I'm still hurting, and the cement floor has knocked the breath from my lungs and drawn me a map of all the bruises on my body. Still, I manage to land a solid hit to Turner's nose, drawing blood that sprays across the front of my black T-shirt, blending into the cotton fabric like it'd never been. It only takes him a second to come back, smashing his hand into my right cheek. I end up biting my tongue, hard, reaching up and smacking him right in the lip ring. That can't feel good, right?

“You little fuck,” Turner growls, going at me with a vengeance that's been a long time coming. Ever since that night he slunk off of our bus, before he became a constant plague in my life, I was ready for this. And so was he. Just something about Turner and I doesn't mix. Maybe it's all alpha male, mating ritual bullshit, but it doesn't matter. Whatever it is, we can't coexist, not really.

“Turner!” A split second after I hear his name called, he's being hauled off of me and pulled back by Ronnie and Jesse. They do a good job, too, managing to avoid his wild flails as he attempts to break free.
They've done this before, I see.
“What the hell?” Ronnie asks, releasing his friend and pushing him gently back into the wall. “This guy got knocked down by a
tornado
. Can you leave your little spat until after his concussion heals? And what about your bullet wound, hmm? Did you forget about that one?” Turner just looks down at me and grits his teeth. One hand comes up and feels the blood under his nose, and then, then he
smiles.
What the fuck?

“Need help up?” Sydney asks, holding out her hand for mine. I look at it and then back up at her. What the hell does she think of me now? I still, still,
still
have a freaking erection.

“I think I'm okay,” I say as blood dribbles down my chin and joins Turner's on my shirt. Great. I run my hand down my mouth and pull it away, gazing at the red shimmer with a frown.

“Not bad, for an emo bitch,” Turner says and then he moves away, strutting through the curtain, wearing his bloody nose like a badge of pride. Ronnie rolls his eyes and follows after, taking the Jesse guy with him. Naomi stays though and looks down at me with a sour expression on her face.

“Are you okay?” she asks me as I wave Sydney's hand away and struggle to my feet. The room spins and their faces crack and blur, but I nod anyway. It's dumb as hell, not my MO at fucking all, but here I am trying to act all macho and shit. That's
not
me.

“I'll be okay if I sit down,” I admit, watching the curtain blur as another face pops through it. It's Hayden. She looks me up and down with a sneer, tilting her chin up and putting a hand on her hip. She's got on these ridiculously tight, hot pink leather pants that Naomi almost flipped shit over. Her thong is hanging out the back, and she's paired it with a black crop top that doesn't look a fucking thing like rock 'n' roll. Hayden looks more like a Britney Spears wannabe at this point. I don't ever want to tell her that, but it's true. I push last night out of my mind. I don't even want to go there.